


the basement

by themissinglenk



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin
Genre: Contemporary AU, M/M, from tumblr, prompt, something like a reincarnation au?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-12
Updated: 2013-11-12
Packaged: 2018-01-01 06:41:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1041572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themissinglenk/pseuds/themissinglenk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He didn’t trust anyone but Eren Jäger to put the weight of the world on his back. And he wouldn’t have taken the weight of the world from anyone else, either. // from tumblr, open prompts, au.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the basement

_Bzzzzz. Bz—… Bzzzzzzzzzzzz._

The Basement was sort of a stellar shop.

It was, as its name alluded, in a basement—technically. Steps led down to the front door from a road branching off Fremont Ave, where at night the streetlamps made a new world out of the trees and bars and Lenin statue, guarding the Russian dumpling place with the upper patio and doors always open.

Themed in reds and blacks, The Basement took cues from places like The Unicorn and St. James on 9th, all unlit candles and stolen confessional mesh with voodoo dolls and Ouija boards peeking out from behind thrift shop treasures like miniature busts of Beethoven and Aristotle and giltwood-framed prints of gothic art. Darker indie pounded out from hidden speakers wired through the place and nobody really minded that Ymir was usually too busy flirting and chatting and smoking with customers to remember she was supposed to be the front desk chick, collecting designs and flipping open sample portfolios.

The incense that was burning in the mouth of a little ruby-eyed dragon when Levi walked in was almost cinnamony, sweet and spicy and quite alluring to the senses. Some sort of calming stick, perhaps, before you stripped down for the needle. There was a clean and comfortable feel to the place, in the soft waves of voices and buzzing tattoo guns, laughter and conversation behind painted-glass cubicles. A small collection of fraternity girls was clustered around the piercing books, and Ymir with her almost-dreads and classy little silver in the left side of her freckled nose was trying to talk them into belly-button rings.

“Hey, Ymir! We need more toilet paper. Put a note on the payroll sheet, will you? We gotta order gloves, too…”

Familiar voice. Levi’s eyes slid across the front room. Jean Kirschtein, reporting. That mess of two-toned hair and biker fag scowl, wrinkled Antiflag T-shirt and patched-up denim jacket. Okay, so maybe not a biker fag so much as a Seatown James Dean. Borderline rockabilly. Specialized in color art. Strolling to a stop in the middle of the room once his eyes lit upon Levi, coming to a complete and seemingly unconscious stop as the recognition bloomed across his face.

“Long time no see,” Jean muttered, all his punk rock scowl dissolving into a demure sort of confusion. What was he going to do next, curtsey? “Are you… Walk-in or appointment?”

“Walk-in,” Levi grunted, offering an apologetic shrug without much feel of apologizing. Jean avoided his eyes and strode off with a purpose, disappearing behind one of the painted-glass cubicles near the back of the shop. One stream of buzzing stopped. Whispering voices underneath the usual noise. If Levi leaned this way, he could see Conny working on some guy’s shoulder. He could feel Ymir gawking. From behind another painted-glass half-wall, Mikasa Ackerman stopped her post-client cleaning and joined Jean in the very back. Well, she looked good, too. Red scarf. Red lips. Traditional Japanese ink peeking out at every slip of skin.

“Walk-in?” Ymir echoed. “What are you getting?”

Levi shrugged again. “The wings of freedom.” Pause. Ymir looked suspicious of him. That was funny. “And I want them from him in the back. I’ll pay extra to take his next client’s spot.”

“It’ll be a forty minute wait,” Ymir said with a tiny disrespectful smack of the lips around the Tootsie Pop one of the frat girls had given her. Christa. Levi was sure of it.

He nodded. “I’ll wait.”

And wait he did. Forty minutes turned into an hour’s test of patience, enduring all the deferential glances as it slowly spread around the shop that Levi sat waiting to get inked up. Flipping through a _Rolling Stone_. Tapping his toe to the background tracks. People-watching. Hooking one leg over the other and checking his wristwatch and feeling much too old and much too worn-out to be in this situation, but much too determined and attached to leave. Ah, there was Marco, too, and really, that boy had _not_ seemed like the type to get face tattoos. Hey Freckles, you’re hardcore. But he was the type to wave cheerily, and wander over for a bit of small talk before Ymir dragged him outside for a smoke break.

Levi’s biggest worry was that the wait would not be worth it.

The wait was, however, most definitely worth it.

The shop was pretty much empty. It seemed Eren Jäger was the most popular choice of clients, booked later than the others who just set to cleaning and sanitizing and organizing before the shop closed at one a.m. And why wouldn’t Eren have been the most popular choice?

The walls of Eren’s corner were covered in Polaroids of his work. He was hunched over the design on a little tracing light, inspecting the last minor details when Armin led Levi over because nobody else would, and Armin sighed and stood and offered Levi the warmest, friendliest smile, though his black-gloved piercer’s fingertips drummed anxiously where he folded his arms at his back.

“It’s good to see you,” Armin conceded, but Levi was too busy watching the way the end of Eren’s T-shirt flirted with the waistband of his Hanes, which of course peeked out with a sliver of sun-kissed flesh from loose paint-splattered jeans. Probably manufactured that way, and rolled up just above his ankles. He was fucking barefoot. Fucking barefoot in his own tattoo parlor, a sugar skull on the back of one heel and _Hell is empty and all the devils are here_ underneath it. Mop of dark hair. Hemp and beads dancing on his wrists and throat the way tattoos danced up his skinny arms. A bold black cross on his left middle finger. The universe, on his right inner forearm. A rather Rosicrucian-looking sun and moon grinning at his left elbow. Latin dates. Words in tiny elegant script, crawling everywhere. The sleeves had been ripped off his T-shirt and the holes dove low, and Levi could see Da Vinci’s man spanning half of Eren’s left oblique.

And it was like a movie moment, really, as July Talk pulsed through the tense quiet in the place and Eren turned around on his little swirly stool and finally looked up, meeting Levi’s eyes directly. He recoiled. Surprised. Like nobody had told him who his last client was despite all the messenger activity of an hour ago. Or maybe the pinched-up shock on his face was more like he hadn’t believed it until now.

_And when you leave I cannot sleep—and when you leave my body shakes—_

Heart, pounding. Palms cold and stomach in knots.

“Levi…” Eren breathed. Fucking brat. Why was he so Goddamn beautiful? Look at those burning eyes and the way his mouth hung open. God, to kiss that mouth again—

Levi smirked, tiny twitch of the mouth. “Don’t look so distraught.”

“I’m not, I just—”

“Didn’t believe them, huh?”

“We were just talking about the old days like, an hour before you waltzed in—”

“The new days seem to be treating you all well, anyway.”

“Why are you back?”

The question hung in the air tight and heavy. Levi tossed his jacket and his shirt to the floor, easing down onto the cold leather of the chair. But Eren didn’t seem ready yet, sitting there on the stool eyes roaming Levi’s body hungry and seduced ho-hum. He wore the puppy-dog look far too well for a young man of his age and stature and general reputation. Then again, his general reputation wasn’t exactly what it looked like it should have been; Jean was more _that reputation_. Eren was just the best artist and the genius behind the place and the one whose eyes spoke of darker depths than a seeming punk-ass in a ripped shirt and no shoes. There was a lot of anger in there, and a lot of need, and did all the girls still ask him when he was going to get a girlfriend or had they finally put two and two together and realized the tattoo artist they all loved to flirt with was not of that persuasion?

Eren stood. Toes wrinkling the boho throw on the cold concrete floor under the chair, he threw one leg up and then the other, both arms hooking tight as he crumpled down into a childish embrace.

And, without hesitation, Levi folded him in tighter against his chest. Ah, body heat. Familiar form. Taut scrawny muscles. Fingers fisted in his hair. Tempting warmth where their laps met. Skip of the heart. Eren’s shy reunion kiss tasted like the metal of nervousness, with a little twinge of energy drinks and cigarettes after. Smooth glide of tongue. Nudge of teeth. Gasp against the lower lip. God, the way his back arched like a lazy cat’s—

“The wings of freedom, huh?” Eren husked. “That’s a big sketch, by the way. Where’s it going?”

“Middle of my back,” Levi whispered, avoiding Eren’s glance.

“What’s it for?”

“Is this an interrogation or a body modification, come on. Let’s go. It’s getting late and I’m old.”

“You’re not old, shut the fuck up. I don’t work on anyone who doesn’t tell me what it’s for. I’m sorry. It’s my policy.”

“Is it also your policy to climb on top of every client and make out with them before getting out the ink?”

“This is circumstantial.” Pause. Scowl. Shiver of defeat blazing in those old soul eyes. “I missed you,” Eren added on a coy breath, and the last stubborn something deep in Levi’s chest finally snapped and gave way.

“Fine,” Levi husked, brushing some of that glorified bedhead out of Eren’s eyes. “I’ve been having dreams, all right? About back then. And I’ve been thinking a lot lately about having the weight of the world on my back, and needing to shake it free. So I thought, ‘Fuck it.’ I want the wings of freedom right there, smack-dab center, as a reminder and a promise. Satisfied, brat? Let’s go. Let’s do this. I want it all done tonight.”

“It’ll be done tonight. You underestimate me.”

“Then after you guys close up, you can show me which lotion to buy and we can grab a late coffee or something.”

“No coffee will be open at three a.m.”

“I’ll make you coffee at my place, then.”

The implications of that were obvious. Was that a blush? Why, yes it was, and it looked scrumptious on Eren’s face. He hovered over Levi a moment longer, a flustered smile desperately waiting to be unleashed. But he looked mildly unsure yet, in disbelief, panicked that this was not actually a good thing but another lonely mistake. Ah, why wasn’t there a warning in the manual of life that nobody ever really grew up, just stayed the same tiny scared child inside? That _growing up_ was really just adapting to the rules and lies of the world?

“Okay,” Eren acquiesced, finally. Cleared his throat. Tried to act less turned-on than he was. Resumed professionalism (as professional as a young successful tattoo artist featured in local magazines and national conventions who wandered his shop barefoot and burned incense could be, that is), swinging off Levi’s lap and digging around for his gloves. Was that an emotional sniffle there or just the congestion of a smoker? Levi couldn’t tell. But he watched from the corner of his eye—greedily, desperately, impatiently. Wanted to memorize every bit of this moment from the slope of Eren’s back to the bite of the needle because this was vital to him. This was a night he didn’t even know he’d been waiting for. Didn’t know he’d needed.

The wings of freedom… The old days…

Really, he didn’t trust anyone but Eren Jäger to put the weight of the world on his back. And he wouldn’t have taken the weight of the world from anyone else, either.

_Bzzzz… Bz-bz-bzzzzzzz_.  
  
  
 **end.**

**Author's Note:**

> tattoo headcanons - http://themissinglenk.tumblr.com/post/65446207951/tattoo-au-headcanons


End file.
